


So Much Left Unsaid

by Rookblonkorules



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father/Son, Gen, hurt!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookblonkorules/pseuds/Rookblonkorules
Summary: He had almost died... He had almost died, leaving so much left unsaid.





	So Much Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this one shot came when I was reading Batman Eternal vol. 3. Towards the end there was a panel where Jason was trapped under debris. He didn't think he was going to make it and so tried to make a recording for Bruce. Needless to say, he lived, but I wondered what that recording might have said if he had actually made it... and what Bruce's reaction to hearing it would have been.  
> This was born.

“ _ Bruce… I…” _

His son’s voice crackles through the speakers on the Batcomputer. Bruce leans back in his chair, hands clasped together, pressed against his mouth, listening.

There’s a momentary lapse in the recording as the speaker falls silent, only the sound of labored breathing revealing that he is, in fact, still there.

Almost involuntarily, his chest tightens and he’s leaning forward.

“ _ I… I just wanted to…” _

There’s another pause. He pictures his son swallowing nervously, trying to work out his next words.

“ _...tell you… thank you… for… everything… and… I’m sorry, Bruce.” _ He hears a short, mirthless laugh before his son continues. “ _ I got them all out. They’re all safe. There was… this one kid… almost didn’t make it out… but s’okay now… Got ‘im out… too… They’re all… okay. But...” _ Once again, the voice pauses, hesitation clear, before starting to speak again.

“ _...the building… it was unstable… Didn’t make it out myself…” _

He clenches his jaw. Knowing what his son is going to say next doesn’t make him feel any better.

“ _ I’m going to die, Bruce…” _ the voice says and Bruce is almost surprised by the lack of emotion in that one sentence. He already knew what was going to happen, knew he wasn’t going to get out of there, knew there was no chance of a rescue, and he was resigned to that fate. Was prepared to meet an end he knew was coming, that there was no avoiding.

It’s that realization, the realization that his son was in this situation without hope, that breaks his heart.

_ I’m going to die. _

The sentence plays itself again in his head.

_ Again.  _

_ Because you weren’t there to save me. _

_ Again. _

The words aren’t spoken aloud, but that doesn’t stop him from hearing them as if they had been.

He wonders if maybe those very words intruded, unbidden, in his son’s mind at that moment.

“ _ Don’t... blame yourself, Bruce. It wasn’t your fault.” _

_ “There-there was nothing you could do.” _

But there was. There should be.

He was Batman, of all people.

Who was he if he wasn’t there to protect his sons?

There’s another quiet laugh, this time containing a touch of humor.

“ _ Guess I’m always getting myself into these situations, huh?” _

_ No, Jason, don’t go there, _ he thinks, lips pressed into a tight line.  _ What happened in Ethiopia was not your fault. _

He swallows, remembering the brash, headstrong youth he’d found in Crime Alley that night. It feels like a lifetime ago, but really, it’s been two.

_ What were you thinking, Jason, _ had been his thoughts at that awful time, when really it should have been, _ What was  _ **_I_ ** _ thinking? _

_ I and not you. _

_ What had  _ **_I_ ** _ been thinking, bringing you into this world? _

_ Couldn’t I see you weren’t ready? _

_ It was not your fault, Jason. _

_ Never your fault. _

The voice crackles through again, drawing his attention back to the recording, away from his private thoughts, his self-accusations.

_ “And Dick… don’t let him… blame himself either. There was nothing… either of you could have done.” _

But there was and, internally, he thanks God with everything he has that Dick had been there with him.

That Dick was able to get them both out of that building before it crushed them.

That he won’t have to bury two sons today, one of them for the second time.

_ A father should never have to bury his sons. _

“He thought he was going to die.” A voice speaks from behind him and he turns. Dick is standing there, having just entered the cave.

He’s not looking at Bruce though. Instead his eyes are focused on the monitor above him where Jason’s recording has just finished playing.

“He thought he was going to die in there. He thought I wouldn’t come and get him. That I wouldn’t be able to. Hell, he didn’t even want me to.”

Now he looks at Bruce and his expression is haunted. “He didn’t want me to come for him.” He swallows, hands clenched into fists by his sides as he meets Bruce’s gaze. “Didn’t want me to die there too. That’s… that’s what he told me when I found him.”

_ He almost died. _

_ Again. _

_ Jason. _

_ He almost died, alone, fire all around. Burning him to death. _

_ Again. _

He has to force himself to let go of the thought and, before he knows it, he’s crossed the room, bringing himself to Dick’s side. “Thank you,” he says softly, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder, and he means it. 

“Thank you,” he says, with all his heart.  _ For getting him out of there. For bringing the both of you home. Alive.  _ Somehow he can’t bring himself to say the words and instead they both stand there, neither of them speaking a word.

He doesn’t know what he would have done if something had happened. If Dick hadn’t been there. 

If he had lost both of them today.

He’s brought back to the present by Dick pulling away from him. “You need to see him. Alfred is with him upstairs, but...”

“I…” Bruce swallows, massaging the tension out of the back of his neck. “I will, Dick.”

“I mean it, Bruce. He… he needs you. He might not admit it, but he does.” His tone is soft, but firm and when his eyes meet Bruce’s, he is able to see that there is no room for argument.

Not that he would make one.

His heart clenching inside his chest, Bruce can only bring himself to nod. “I know,” he says quietly, throat tightening.

Yet, despite what Dick has told him, despite his own words, it’s another hour before he can bring himself to leave the cave and head up to Jason’s room.

He runs into Dick on the way up, but continues going, ignoring the pointed “it’s about time” look he receives from his eldest.

Alfred is already there, having brought Jason dinner some time ago, by the time Bruce reaches the room. Jason is awake and relatively unharmed. His helmet kept him from inhaling the smoke and his leather jacket kept him from sustaining more than a few minor burns.

It’s something he finds himself infinitely grateful for and he lingers just outside the doorway, not sure if he should go in.

The boys have always been close to Alfred and he’s unwilling to intrude on them right now.

His efforts to go unnoticed fail miserably as two minutes haven’t passed before Alfred’s spotted him.

Alfred straightens, collecting the dishes off of the bureau, and Jason’s attention shifts from the butler to the doorway.

Something flickers across the boy’s face, gone before Bruce has a chance to identify, yet there’s no lingering hostility present on his face, something Bruce had come to expect from him long ago.

It’s Jason who first breaks the silence. “Hey,” he says, by way of greeting. A hand twitches in the beginning of a wave, but it doesn’t quite make it that far.

“Hey,” Bruce replies, stepping farther into the room. 

Alfred takes it upon himself to leave at that moment. “You don’t have to go,” he whispers to him as the man attempts to slip by him. “He might like it better if you stay.”

Alfred harrumphs at Bruce’s attempt to get out of the situation. 

“Nonsense, sir,” he answers, giving Bruce a disappointed sideways glance from under a raised eyebrow. “I think a little bonding time between the two of you might be exactly what the boy needs to recover.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Jason cuts in and Bruce’s attention is once more drawn to the bedridden boy.  Jason’s face is a strange mix between a frown and an amused smirk, giving it a rather pinched appearance.

Bruce sighs, approaching the bed with mixed feelings of apprehension, as Alfred leaves them alone, closing the door behind him.

“So, um,” Jason begins, fiddling with the bedsheets, rubbing them between his hands, awkwardly.

Bruce takes a seat in the nearby armchair, waiting for him to continue.

Jason finally looks up, meeting Bruce’s eyes again. “You got my message,” he says. A statement , not a question.

Bruce shifts at the mention of the recording, careful to keep his voice neutral. “Yes.”

Jason nods, unease clearly defined on his face. “Right.” He clenches and unclenches his fists, bunching up the blankets in his hands. “About that…” he begins.

“Jason, I…” Bruce says in the same moment, but Jason cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Look, big guy…  B… I don’t really want to hear it,” he says tiredly, looking away. “I get that I did bad stuff, broke your damn moral code and all that, but…”

Bruce grimaces. Did Jason honestly think that he was worried about his moral code right now?

Jason sighs, looking exhausted. “That message… I just…  wanted you… needed you to know that…” His voice trails off, before he’s pushing himself to sit forward, wincing at the obvious pain his ribs, busted by the falling debris that had pinned him down, trapped him, cause him at the movement. Bruce moves as if to stop him, but a glare from Jason stays him. “It… no matter what I said… it doesn’t change anything.”   

Jason looks away from Bruce, instead focusing his gaze out the window.

He never liked having the shades pulled back, Bruce remembers, and it’s for that reason that Alfred has left them open, trying to make the room every bit as hospitable as it once was to the wayward boy.

“No,” Bruce says, surprising both himself and Jason. He’s shocked by how earnest his voice sounds. “It…” he swallows past the lump in his throat. “It doesn’t have to stay that way. Come home. Things can change. They  _ will _ change.”

Jason shakes his head. “You never saw it that way before,” he says tightly. 

“Jason,” Bruce grinds out, “I don’t give a damn about my moral code right now. I just… I want you to come home, Jay.  _ We  _ want you home.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as he swallows uncomfortably.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Jay.

Almost without thinking, he reaches out, laying his calloused hand atop Jason’s smaller one. Jason stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. His eyes meet Bruce’s a split second before Bruce feels his hand grasping his gently.

“Yeah… so am I.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
